The Hidden Recipe

Chapter Three: The Cost of a Lie

The bus groaned to a halt, its brakes screeching like a wounded animal. Eddie stepped off into the dim glow of the streetlights, the cold biting at his fingers and face. He pulled his thin jacket tighter around him as he trudged toward his apartment.

The building loomed ahead, its peeling paint and cracked windows a testament to hard times. Inside, the hallway reeked of mildew and regret. Eddie unlocked his door with a jangle of keys and stepped into the tiny, threadbare space he called home.

His living room doubled as his bedroom—a futon shoved against one wall, a rickety table in the corner, and a secondhand microwave that hummed menacingly whenever it was turned on. He tossed his bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the futon, staring at the water-stained ceiling.

For a moment, he let the exhaustion take over. His muscles ached, his hands stung, and his head throbbed from the constant stress of keeping up at the restaurant. But he couldn’t afford to rest for long. Not with everything at stake.

Eddie’s phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. He grabbed it off the floor and glanced at the screen. It was a text from his sister, Linda.

Linda: Did you eat today?

Eddie smiled faintly, typing back: Yeah, I’m good. How about you and Mom?

The reply came almost instantly: We’re fine. Just worried about you. Call when you can.

He sighed, guilt gnawing at him. Linda and his mom lived three states away, struggling to stay afloat after his dad’s medical bills had wiped out their savings. Eddie had moved to the city two years ago, determined to find a better job and send money home. Instead, he’d been laid off twice, burned through his savings, and was now clinging to this chef gig by the skin of his teeth.

He opened his wallet, staring at the single twenty-dollar bill inside. It was all he had until his first paycheck—assuming he lasted that long.

The decision to fake his résumé had come after a month of rejection letters. No one was hiring, especially not someone with a patchy work history and no formal culinary training. But Eddie had always been good in the kitchen. He’d grown up cooking with his mom, who taught him the secrets of perfectly balancing flavors and the importance of patience in letting a dish come together.

His skill for memorization had made him a star in school—back when life was simpler. He could recite entire passages from textbooks after a single read, remember recipes after watching a video once, and even memorize the quirks and preferences of the people around him.

But being smart didn’t pay the bills. Desperation had pushed him to forge the perfect résumé, using every ounce of creativity he had. He figured if he could just get his foot in the door, he could work hard enough to make up for his lies.

Now, the weight of that decision pressed down on him like a boulder.

The next morning, Eddie woke early, his mind racing with ways to improve. He pulled out his phone and rewatched a dumpling-making tutorial, pausing and rewinding until he could picture the movements in his head. He practiced folding imaginary dough, his hands mimicking the motions over and over.

By the time he arrived at Golden Dynasty, he was armed with a plan. If he couldn’t match the other chefs’ experience, he’d outwork them.

“Back again, Singapore?” Tommy greeted as Eddie entered the kitchen.

“First one in, last one out,” Eddie replied, forcing a grin.

Tommy laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

As the morning rush began, Eddie threw himself into his tasks with laser focus. His hands moved faster, his knife cuts more precise. When Chef Zhang passed by, Eddie straightened, hoping to catch even a flicker of approval in the man’s stern expression.

It didn’t come, but Zhang didn’t yell at him either, which Eddie took as progress.

During a lull in the rush, Mei approached him. “You’re improving,” she said, her tone begrudging. “But don’t get comfortable. One mistake, and you’re out.”

Eddie nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He couldn’t afford mistakes. Not when his mom and sister were counting on him. Not when the economy outside these walls was crumbling and people were losing everything.

He stayed late that night, scrubbing the counters long after the other staff had left. As he worked, his mind replayed every moment of the day, analyzing what he could do better tomorrow.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the faint hum of the refrigerator filled the empty kitchen. Eddie leaned against the counter, staring out the window at the city lights.

He couldn’t fail. Not here. Not now.

Golden Dynasty wasn’t just a job—it was his lifeline.